My Love to Me
My love to me is always kind:
She neither storms, nor is she pined;
She does not plead with tears or sighs,
But gentle words and soft replies—
Dear earnests of the thought behind.
They say the little god is blind,
They do not count him quite too wise;
Yet he, somehow, could bring and bind
My love to me.
And sweetest nut hath sourest rind?
It may be so; but she I prize
Is even lovelier in mine eyes
Than good and gracious to my mind.
I bless the fortune that consigned
My love to me.
W. E. Henley.